


Imprint

by MinaruiS



Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, He doesn't know what to do with it, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Matt Murdock gets a supersoldier duckling, Maybe he'll get two, Multi, Post Daredevil season 1, Slow Build, Steves Rogers Needs a Hug too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinaruiS/pseuds/MinaruiS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy: “So, basically, you have a supersoldier obeying each your commands, and whose willing and able to kill anybody who sneeze too close to you ?”<br/>Matt: “…Yes ?”<br/>Foggy: “It’s not all, isn’t it ?”<br/>Matt: “He’s got an angry ex-boyfriend. From the 40’s.”<br/>Foggy: “Oh Matty…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter Soldier: Meet Matt Murdock

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone,  
> After discovering the wonder that is the Daredevil serie, I lurked and read nearly everything in the Daredevil fandom.  
> And I saw some works with Steve/Matt, and Bucky/Matt...and they were great, the characters just clicked perfectly...and as a complete Stucky fan, I instantly thought : I want the three together...  
> But I'm French. And I don't consider myself a writer...So I just...waited for someone to write them.  
> But...now, I got this idea...what if Matt Murdock, well-known self-flagelating vigilante, had to take care of someone, someone who doesn't register his injuries, refuse to go to an hospital, and basically...is very Matt Murdock-y on his self care ?
> 
> And this, Ladies and Gentlemen (and others)...is how I began...
> 
> Now...as I said, I'm french, and it's my first fic, so...Don't hesitate to give any critic, bad or worse, and correct my english. I'm happy to learn !

He was running. Under the freezing rain, the dark streets seemed all the same. He noticed an adequate fire-escape at his ten, and jumped to access it. He nearly missed, and the sensation of nearly fall put a freezing feel deep inside him. _He doesn’t want to fall._

Shaking his head to clear up the dizziness, he got on the roof, took in the scenery, and made his strategy in a matter of seconds. He jumped over from roof to roof, nearly stumbling a couple of time. Sloppy. _He’s so tired._

A final jump, a last climb, and he’s in place, in the best ambush place. _They_ will have to jump one by one and can only come from one direction. _A perfect slaughter place. Dead End. Coupe-Gorge. Trap. No way out …Stop. Focus. Breath._

He got over his beginning of panic attack and refocused. Breathe. He’s got a job to do. He won’t go back. Never. _Rather be dead. Never again. The void…No more cold sleep…no freezing, no cold hands, no, please, no…_

“Hey.”

The voice was calm, clear, and JUST RIGHT HERE ! He spinned instantly and projected his left arm in the same movement, but didn’t connect. He continued his attack with a fluid sweep with his right leg and a punch, which connected this time, but was deflected and too weak. _He’s good._ The impact of a fist in his stomach nearly made him double over, and his chronic nausea reminded him its existence. His right hand automatically got out a knife and slashed at his opponent even before he stumbled back. But the guy dodged and kicked him. He managed to catch the leg with his left hand. _Now you’re done_.

A brutal _Bang!_ slashed the rain noise and their heavy breathing, leaving a white ringing in his ears. The bullet nearly missed him, and both of them freezed for a fraction of second before getting to hide. As they scrambled behind the concrete wall formed by roof stairs, he punched the guy on the temple to remove one problem from the equation. _A horned mask ??? Really ???._ The guy scrambled at his feet. He didn’t wait to confirm he was out before opening fire on _them_.

It wasn’t the plan. Firefight was noisy, attracted unwanted attention, could attract HIM, maybe…He was supposed to get them by surprise, in the dark, as they were looking for him, _not shooting at him!_

However, he was still in position of power, and quickly shot the first two men dead. Silence, and rain drops, were again the only things to be heard.

Suddenly, he realized that if, yes, he could take them out, he couldn’t get out too… _Dead End. Coupe-Gorge. Trap. Impasse. No, please, no_ …

His heart quickened again, and his breathing stuttered dramatically. The panic he tried so long to keep down overwhelmed him instantly, and black points grew in his vision field. “Please, no, please, I want to go home, please, no, no, I don’t want to go back, please…”

He didn’t realized he was whimpering and stuttering words until the voice interrupted again.

“Hey. You’re okay. The door is open. You can get out.”

This time, the voice didn’t even make him jump. He just freezed, waiting for the end. _He was so tired._

Instead, a gloved hand took his, and pulled him down the stairs. “Ok, just let me…” The door opened to a new descent of stairs. “Come.” The guy in dark red suit said. _His voice is nice._

Without thinking anymore, he followed the rich voice of the horned man through the building, jumped to another one, zigzagged through and in increasingly indefinite constructions. He was lost, dazed and close to break. The only solid point in his mind was his hand, connected to the horned man's one. They stopped moving. He acknowledged a dark hall, the cling of keys, the noise of an opening lock, the sweet woosh of a door opening…The masked man pulled gently on his hand, saying again:

“Come.”

He followed. The flat was dark. The masked man didn’t put the light on, but that wasn’t a problem, as an obnoxious advertising screen in front of the window put an eerie mix of red and white lights in the place. As the man closed the door, he got down on his knees. The words came so easily, and he felt so relieved when he finally gave up:

“Winter Soldier, reporting”


	2. Matt Murdock: Meet Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is sooo over his head...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There come the second chapter, from Matt's perpective. Again, all critics are wellcomed. Good reading! (hopefully)

It was still raining. Each single drop of water crashing to from the sky of Hell’s Kitchen constructed an ever changing map. Cars sounds, splash of water from a citizen in a hurry who walked in a puddle, gurgles from a forest of gutters. The water drops hitting the roof's teal, metal, glass, concrete, clothes, leather, trees, earth…each made a different sound. Extended his universe and his perception beyond sighted-people could perceive. Rain gave the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen his Sight, and more.

Matt had been intrigued by the noise. One man, chased by a dozen of others. The similar noise of their footsteps, their equipment and the telling scratch of a radio revealed that the pursuers belonged to a common organization. A dozen men, against a lone fugitive. That didn’t seemed right…

The chased one managed to increase the distance with his pursuers thanks to some impressive athletic abilities, then reached a narrow rooftop between two concretes blocks and took aim, probably waiting for his pursuers. Matt was, actually, being quite cozy on the right roof block, and as such, on first rank to observe the scene. The man heartbeat was dangerously increasing, and his breathing getting more erratic. When he began to make tiny, distressed hiccups, Matt made a decision and silently slided from his higher place to try to talk to the poor man. On second thought, he should have foreseen the violent reaction, but he didn’t thought the guy would be able to react, furthermore move like that when suffering a panic attack. In addition, he didn’t thought the pursuers will shot at them without warning, too. And he certainly didn’t think a single head blow from the guy would knock him up. He certainly packed a punch.

Well, he probably was out only for a short time, as the mysterious guy was still here…and in full blow panic attack near him. Great. Rain dropped ominously on two non-moving masses in the rooftop, and he could hear the rest of the pursuers debating from afar, the other building at least. Waiting for reinforcement. Clearly, they thought they had cornered their prey, but were not so keen to approach him…So, they suffered losses, and…the two masses were very probably two dead men…

Beside him, the man was desperately pleading when he wasn’t hyperventilating. Clearly, his pursuers were his torturers too. His body temperature was too low, he smelled stressed out, aside from the expected hard fabric, leather, metal and oil gun. Plus, there was some mechanic device on him that didn’t sound like anything he ever heard. Far off, Matt heard the radio scratch, and the distinctive sound of helicopter motor. Police sirens were getting closer too. Probably the gun shots. They had to go out, now, before the net closes off. Matt tested the door, found it open (Thanks for addicted smokers and indoor smoking regulation). This time, he called the guy from afar, bracing for a new attack. But the man expelled all his air in a whoosh and just freezed. No breathing, no moving. Not even a shiver. God, the guy was terrified. Gingerly, Matt took the man hand, and gave a light pull. The man followed. He followed him through the building, and the next, and the next, and up to his flat. And after a last “Come”, the man got in his living room, and…felt to his knees before him. Then said, with a surprising light voice: “Winter Soldier, reporting”.

Now, and only now, Matt got the dreading feeling he is far over his head. When people got code names, generally, that means they aren’t mundane civilians with mundane problems…

But the man body was too cold, his shivers were increasing, according to all the metallic parts of his gear, and there was still this mechanic sound…And the fresh, metallic smell of blood stood out from the leather-cloth-stressed sweat smell of the man.

“Are you hurt ?"

“Status: functional.”

“…I mean, how do you feel?”

“…”

Damned, the guy didn’t seem able to express his injuries… Matt suddenly remembered Foggy and Claire’s annoyance to his own injuries denial tendencies, and winced. Yeah, now he saw the problem.

“From what I perceive, your body temperature is too low, you’re bleeding, and you’re probably in shock. You need to go to a hospital. Let me change my clothes, and I can call a friend to get you to the hospital.”

“No, no hospital.”

 

Well, if it isn’t God way to get back at him…


	3. Matt Murdock: Meet HYDRA abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for this nice welcome ! This chapter is really short, but I'll try to publish one per day, so, I hope it's okay. As always, any critic is appreciated !

“Ok. First thing first. You need to warm up. Get out of your wet clothes, and remove any weapon you have. You’ve got to take a shower”.

Strangely, this sentence was received by a dramatic increase of the man heartbeat. He seemed more afraid…Why? Matt didn’t get to ask if something was wrong, as the guy took a big breath, and, as if bracing himself against a new torture, began to put out weapons on the floor. A lot of weapons. From…a lot of part of his body? _What the?? How much more does he have??_

Then, Matt heard the characteristic sounds of wet piece of cloth sliding and dropping on the floor. He got up and opened his mouth to show where the bathroom was when the… _arm dealer? tank soldier?_ said in a frightened little voice:

“I can’t get it out. Please, I’m trying, please, keep me, I’m trying, it doesn’t get out, the weapon, I can’t get it out !”

The soldier guy anxiety was skyrocketing again, his words nearly unintelligible between sobs and increasing cries. Matt didn’t understand what was happening until he smelled the new fresh smell of blood, and heard skin scratching. Getting back in front of the man, Matt got on his knees and snatched the increasingly distressed man’s hand from where the scratching came, and felt him freeze again. He just then realized that the mechanic noises came from the left side of the man. Left side which was as cold as the room. And smelled like metal and oil, and buzzed like… _What the?_

Matt quickly followed the arm with his free hand and discovered that the soldier’s arm was an intricate metal prosthesis, wich got up to… _Jesus…the whole shoulder…and he tried to remove it because…Because I asked him to remove his weapons?! He thinks his arm is a weapon?! Oh my God…_

But the poor man’s terrified state didn’t allow Matt to think further on the implications. This guy needed his help NOW. He could think about the horrors of mental conditioning implied here AFTER.

“Your arm is not a weapon, I don’t require you to remove it, okay?”

“The Asset left side contains adamantium, vibranium and ceramic alloy wich allow a shock resistance superior to 250 joules. The Asset spinal column, left collarbone, left shoulder and third left ribs are made with the said components. The Asset left arm can apply a claw pressure superior as 2 tons between his fingers. The Asset left arm is a weapon. “

Matt cringed at the mechanic tone. Frantically, he thought of adequate arguments to convince this poor soul to NOT RIP HIS ARM OFF.

“Well, if that’s the case, my jaw, my teeth, my arms and legs are weapons too…Just not one as strong as yours…”

Matt felt the man tense even further and quickly continued:

“What I mean is: it’s your arm. It’s not a weapon, as long as you don’t hurt anybody with it, okay? Now, come on, you need a hot shower and clothes. Warm ones.”

As he got up, the man heartbeat and breathing finally slowed down a notch. He quietly followed Matt in the bathroom, and, when Matt got the shower on and the hot water began to fill the room with steam, the man said, with wonder in his voice: “Hot shower?”

Matt felt his heart twinge. “That what I said, didn’t I?”

As the guy didn’t move, Matt began to babble:” So, here the shampoo for your hair, and the shower gel for your body, and I’ve got a razor and shaving cream if you need a…” Matt interrupted himself when he belatedly realized that he forgot to turn the lights ON.

“Uh…”


	4. Winter Soldier: Meet soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there comes the chapter 4...Thank again to everyone that kindly corrected my english, I hope it's not too dreadful to read for native readers...  
> Anyway, here, I tried to show that if Bucky is still strongly conditionned and obedient, his headstrong personality may still come out internally...

_My handler is blind._

The Asset-man-NOT HYDRA was seated on a stool. His handler saw- _perceived?_ his flinch when he directed him to a chair, and proposed a kitchen stool instead. The asset knew he should have been punished, or at the least made sit on what his handler commanded first. He knew he shouldn’t express any sign of discomfort. _Weapons don’t have feelings._

But here he was, with a bowl of something hot and delicious and… _Homey?_ smelling placed before him. His handler called it “chicken soup”, something made by a certain “Foggy”. Saliva filled the Asset mouth. His stomach cramped even more, a loud gurgle revealing his discomfort before his new handler. The Asset gave him a nervous look, fearing his handler’s reaction to the Asset weakness. The man had changed from his red uniform to civilian clothes, a white shirt and brown trousers. Red lenses glasses masked his blind eyes. His handler tilted his head to the side, then resumed his position in front of the Asset. The Asset waited. He had to show he was well trained, and would pass the test. He had to. He couldn’t get back. He had to please his handler.

“You’re hungry. Why are you not eating?”

“The Asset sustenance is provided by intravenous supply, at his handler’s leisure.”

He hoped he replied correctly, and will be allowed to be put to sleep soon. But it was unlikely, as his handler provided him with soft gray clothes that kept him nicely warm after his shower. He also tended non-threatening injuries, suggesting that he will be put to use any moment now. Otherwise, the handler would only have waited for them to mind by themselves. _It felt nice, and clean, and warm, nonetheless._ The man-Asset will do his best to show him he can be a trusted asset. And maybe he’ll get another shower too. _Keep me, please…_

“If I’m telling you can eat this meal, will you eat it?”

The handler insists. He’s got the strange need to scream in frustration. He showed his obedience, he was good, _not fair, cruel…No, no, the asset is obedient, the asset asks for nothing, the asset is grateful for everything he is given, no, please, I’ll be good…_

“Ok, calm down, you’re doing good. Here, eat your soup, please.”

The “please” was a strange word in a command, but it was a command nonetheless. Relieved, The Asset began to eat. He tentatively took a sip, the hot fragrance tantalizing. He nearly shocked on his mouthful, overwhelmed by the flavors. When he managed to swallow, he waited to see his handler reaction. But his handler wasn’t looking at him. _Well he’s blind._ He was actually pouring himself a glass of water. The Asset-man took a breath, and another sip. The soup delicious flavors and warmth filed his palate a second time. And a third. And another time… _this was so good, he was so hungry…_

“Hey, slow down, you don’t want to get sick”

_He displeased his handler, he was going to be punished, the handler will throw him out, no, please…_

“It’s OK, you just have to wait a little before eating again. I don’t want you to be sick.”

His handler kept his voice low and calm. He was tilting his head on the right again. _Listening?_ He leveled his hands up in a slow placating motion as he explained. The man-Asset was perplexed. Was the term “sick” referring to a non-functional status? If that was the case, the cramps in his abdomen didn’t prevent him from fighting, and consequently, were irrelevant. _And the soup was good. I wish I could eat more._

“Winter Soldier status: Functional”

“Ok, I reformulate: Are-you hurting?”

That was trickier. The asset feared that his answer wouldn’t please his handler. But he had to comply.

“Yes.”

“Okay, where are you hurting? Describe it to me.”

The handler tried to keep his voice steady, but he felt the man tension. _The handler was displeased, he should have guessed he needed to describe his status, stupid…_ Stuttering a little at the beginning, the Asset began to list as demanded:

“Left shoulder: Muscular trauma and internal bleeding, non-life-threatening. Head: altered vision due to severe headache. Stomach: cramping and nausea. Right kneecap: Blunt trauma, non-interfering with movement. “

His handler seemed at loss for words, when finally telling him: “Thank you for telling me.” But he didn’t seemed satisfied by the asset’s answer. _That was strange._

The handler finally gave him the glass of water _(for me??)_ , with instructions to alternate small sips between the soup and the water, and waiting periods to “Let it settle”. The Asset-man hypothesized that 10 minutes breaks should be adequate, and fulfilled his mission. His stomach was gurgling and cramping, but not to the point to reject the light meal. _He didn’t want his handler to be angry._

“Okay, let’s put you to bed…actually, what’s your name, buddy?”

_“Your name is James “Buchanan” Barnes, and you’ve known me all your life.”_

“I…I don’t remember.”


	5. Foggy Nelson: Scold Matt Murdock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the fifth chapter !   
> And here comes Foggy Nelson, the great !  
> I'll hope you'll find him in character...  
> And the usual: don't ever hesitate to correct my english, or anything else...Good reading !

As soon as Karen left running various errands (Cases mean A LOT of paper work), Foggy got up and walked in Matt office. He sat down heavily on Matt’s desk and said:

“So, spill.”

“I’m sorry what?”

Matt heard Foggy sigh heavily.

“Come on, it’s not the first time I get you red-handed. You’ve got the twitchy look, you know the one…come on!”

“…Did you just made a blind joke AND a pun about my costume in the same sentence?” Matt tried, really, he did, but it still sounded more fond than disapproving. He heard Foggy puff out as he preened a little. His best friend sure loved his jokes.

“Hey, it was a hell of a good one, admit it! And don’t change the subject! So, what did you do? Who did-you pissed off and don’t want to talk about because you want to protect us poor non-powered people and carry on your own heroic self-destruction?”

Matt squirmed. Since the “by the way I’m a blind-ninja-vigilante, sorry for bleeding on you and frightening you” episode, he promised himself he would always be honest with Foggy. He owed him that. And there was this catholic “Thou shall not lie” thing, too. Grudgingly, he muttered:

“I didn’t pissed off anyone.”

“…I’m pointedly looking at you.”

Matt squirmed again on his chair. Damn Foggy for knowing him so well.

“I didn’t…well, not someone, anyway…” No, he wasn’t childish at all…

“…Now, I’m raising a disapproving brow at you.”

Keeping his arms crossed (He wasn’t pouting, thank you very much), he reluctantly answered:

“A paramilitary…thing? Maybe?”

”Matt.” Now, Foggy sounded exasperated. Well, he deserved it…Matt finally gave up, the words spilling out of his mouth without control:

“But it was an evil one! They were after a poor guy with a metal arm, he was running for his life, and they shot at us, and when I came back to me after the guy punch, they were cornering him, and he was despaired and in pain, and I took him home, and now-he’s-living-with-him-maybe?”

“What? You were shot ? Wait a minute…you’re telling me you’re sheltering a fugitive that knocked you out ? Right now?” Foggy breath and heartbeat were quickening, and his tone got louder, nearly shouting the last words of his sentence. Matt winced.

“Well, when you say it like that…”

“I don’t believe you, Matty…”

Foggy tone was now gone from the usual-daredevil-exasperation too serious anger. Matt desperately tried to explain:

“Foggy…He’s really messed up. I had to order him to eat and take a hot shower, otherwise he’s like a puppet too scared I throw him out. And I had to order him to report his injuries too. Otherwise, he didn’t register himself as hurt.”

There was a pause. Then Foggy said: “Well, at least, HE isn’t lying about it…” _Ouch_ ….

“Foggy…” Matt said, pitifully. He knew he was a disappointment. He didn’t deserve Foggy. He didn’t deserve Karen, for that matter. He shouldn’t have told Foggy. His friend didn’t need to worry more, he didn’t deserve him…

“Hey, hey, ok, stop with the puppy look, you won, I’ll come see your dangerous street stray before doing the responsible parent and explain to you that NO, you can’t keep it.”

“But Foggy, he explained to me that he couldn’t trust any governmental agency. This organization infiltrated everything, they’re everywhere. I won’t abandon him to his death, or worse, because I was too scared to shelter him!”

“Well, that’s convenient for your new friend, but how many evil organizations like this do you think you know?”

Matt said tentatively: “Well…you heard about HYDRA, right?”

“Of course I’ve heard about HYDRA and all the D.C. fiasco, I mean, you were with me at Josie’s for the whole mess, so you heard too, and ok, that’s one good messed-up example, thank you, I didn’t need to be reminded how fucked up our world is today, thank you…” Foggy paused his circuit around the desk, and stopped gesturing with his arms. Matt heard his friend breath stutter as he came to the dire conclusion.

“Wait…You mean…”

Matt grimaced and confirmed: “Yes.”

“Fuck! No…Seriously?” Now, Foggy tone was more pleading than disbelieving. _Thank you for believing me, Foggy._

“Yes.” Matt said again.

“You’re telling me that you got your sexy dumb ass in HYDRA shit list? Seriously?!?” And now Foggy was mad at Matt. _Again._

“Shh, Foggy, it’s not a big deal…”

“Don’t “Shh” me, Matthew Murdock, we’re talking about HYDRA evil Nazi organization here, the same one that would have blown up millions of people if glorious-patriotic-ass-America didn’t save the day!”

Oh. That was Matt’s chance to change the subject:

“…May I ask you what’s up with the butt fixation?”

He hoped to put off his friend, he got Foggy declaiming with a ridiculous pompous tone: “Oh, shut it, it’s not because you’re straight you have to disdain the man anatomy. You’ve got the right…no, the duty, to appreciate good booty, male, female or in between!”

“Foggy…” Matt pleaded.

“What, you’re blind, not dead, right?“

Matt desperately groaned. That was getting out of hand…throwing his head back and putting his hands over his ears (not childish, absolutely not), he said:

“Oh god, this one is the worse. You’re an awful human being. You should be ashamed of yourself…Why are you my friend, again?”

There was a pause. Matt braced himself for the worse. This is it. This is when Foggy Nelson decides he’s fed up with Matt Murdock bullshit, and leaves him for good…

“I help you babysit a fugitive from an evil Nazi organization?” Foggy tone was fond, if a little exasperated. Matt couldn’t believe he didn’t irremediably fucked up. He asked in a little voice:

“You will? Really?”

This time, the tone was mostly fond. “Well ye…”

“Thank you Foggy, thank you !” Matt blabbed. “I’m really not sure what I’m doing here. Obviously, he has been brainwashed and conditioned, the poor guy doesn’t remember his name and seems terrified to displease me. And he obeys me. All the time. And he pleaded me on his knees to keep him, just this morning. But he shouldn’t stay with me, I will fail, I’ll fuck up, every people that got close, they get hurt, I don’t know how to care of people, I’m afraid he’ll run away and get caught because I wasn’t enough, but he pleaded me to stay with me, Foggy, what am-I gonna do ?!”

“Hey, calm down Matty, you’re freaking out here buddy!”

Matt took a stuttering breath. His heart was beating frantically. Chronic exhaustion and pure fear of inadequacy compressed his chest and his throat. Matt gulped, and continued:

“But Foggy, I’ll mess up, he’ll get hurt, I don’t SEE him, he didn’t want me to call Claire, I can’t SEE his expressions, what if he’s suffering and I won’t be able to SEE? He needs me, and I’m me, and…”

Foggy closed up the distance and put a hand on his shoulder:

“Well, from what you said, you understood he was brainwashed and severely tortured, right?”

“…Yes.”

“And you patched him up, you feed and cleaned him, and you put him to sleep, yes? You took care of him?” Foggy insisted.

“Yeah, but…I had to order him. He wouldn’t do it himself.”

“…Why?”

“Because…probably because he doesn’t think he has the right too.”

“Jesus.”

“Appropriate, yes”

“Wait a minute…you’re telling me he obeys each your command?”

“Yes”

“Do you mean…what if he obeys everybody? Like…me? Do you think he’ll obey me?”

“I don’t know…well, he certainly didn’t obey the guys after him, since he killed two of them, so…maybe not?”

“Since he killed…” Foggy repeated, bewildered. “Fuck Matt, who is this guy, exactly?”

“He doesn’t remember.”

“Well shit.”


	6. Winter Soldier: Meet boredom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone ! Sorry for the delay, but I got a little taken away with this mosnter of a chapter (according to my criteria^^), and it took me more time to edit it.  
> So, here I present you my Bucky Barnes headcannon. As in someone highly competent and clever (or he wouldn't have been such an asset), but without any memory to put moral values on his actions. And as such: Bucky values = his handler's. Moreover, I see my Bucky-Winter Soldier as the clever shit that always tries (and find) loopholes in his orders to do what HE wants...  
> So, better Matt than Hydra, huh ?  
> Hope you'll enjoy this chapter !

_He was bored._

Once he realized the feeling of impending doom, his restlessness and his growing anxiety were due to his inactive state, he tried to find something to do. Finding something to do, instead of just reacting and strategize in order to survive were significantly different, it quickly appeared to the Asset-soldier. Each waking moments with HYDRA was purposeful: he fought, he trained, he killed, or he was ordered to stay put-don’t move-don’t scream…Stop. Breathe. It’s over. After D.C., between hiding from HYDRA and every other kind of government agencies, he didn’t have the time to think more than “Where to find the next safe place to hide, and, eventually, something to eat”. He never had the luxury for more than exhausted cat naps, and now, his handler left him this morning with instructions to stay put and wait for his return…And now, he had nothing to DO.

The soldier fidgeted. That wasn’t normal. It was barely twelve. He wasn’t even uncomfortable, the couch he was allowed (no, he CHOOSED) to sit on was certainly the softest place he ever had to wait on. And he was a sniper, the very best, he could wait hours without moving even the slightest, _so why couldn’t he stay in place?!_

The soldier revised his handler’s instructions. After he woke up this morning _(in a bed!),_ his handler instructed him to take a shower _(a hot one !)_ , before giving him new clothes (the pink T-shirt was a strange choice, his handler’s dressing room mainly contains neutral colored clothes. _But it was’nt the Asset place to make a remark_. Then, his handler provided him a new meal _(oatmeal! Delicious!)_ , and left him with instructions to 1) Remain in the flat until his handler return. 2) Use the flat amenities for his sustenance. 3) Make himself comfortable.

The first instruction was easy to follow, and to accept. _All orders should be obeyed with the same zeal._ But the second and third instructions…They were too vague. What was the definition of sustenance? Which ingredients use, how much, with which frequency? The Asset already swept the apartment and didn’t find any intravenous or nasogastric nutrition kits, so he guessed he had to use the products presents in the kitchen. He reviewed the icebox and the pantry. They were no leftovers, so he’ll have to cook. But was he allowed to cook something hot, or should he keep on the usual cold sustenance? Well, his new handler provided him with a hot meal twice already, so he could assume he had the right to a hot meal…But could the hot meals be reserved for when the handler is present, in order to enforce positive conditioning?

The Asset-man reflected that the handler would not be here to know if he ate hot or cold, providing that he make sure to clean every evidences of cooking. And that he could begin to cook now, as it would give him a purpose for the moment.

Decision made, he reviewed a last time all the available ingredients, and decided that beans, green salad, cheese and bread constituted an adequate meal considering his high protein needs. There was no meat in the icebox… _and eggs are better for the morning._

As he discovered, the kitchen was very well organized and the household appliance easy to use, even for the non-trained people. Well, he didn’t dare try the dishwasher, and washed and dried everything manually after eating. He then made sure to put everything away at their exact previous place. This way, his handler will be able to find them easily.

But now that he had successfully eaten…how was he supposed to “make himself comfortable”?!

Well…he guessed he just had to try everything, yes?

Problem: the flat was spartanly furnished, so, after trying successively the couch (too short and narrow to lie comfortably down), the two armchairs, the kitchen chairs (very quicky), the stools (obviously less comfortable), and, finally, the bed (very soft sheets, great mattress, nice odor, great everything), he guessed that this final piece of furniture was the more appropriate “to be comfortable”. Idly, he wondered why his handler made him sleep in the bed and slept in the scientifically demonstrated less comfortable couch. But after only a handful of minutes squirming on the said bed, the man was again at loss at what to do. Stay in the apartment: check. Eat sustenance using said apartment appliances: check. Make himself comfortable: check. What now?

That wasn’t the standard protocol. Usually, after the last objective completed, he was extracted, debriefed, eventually checked on-hurt-the chair… and then put to sleep.

 _THIS HANDLER ISN’T HYDRA_. So, not the same M.O. He choose his handler.

What is a standard M.O.? He tried to think further. According to the Captain-Steve Rogers-You know me-blues eyes-strong will, he wasn’t always owned by HYDRA. If the Smithsonian’s expo could be trusted, he effectively was part of a war unit called the “Howling Commandos”, which was effectively commanded by Captain Steve Rogers. Moreover, he shared a physical resemblance with Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, said “Bucky”, whose name Steve Rogers claimed he owned.

But more than seventy years separated the man called “Bucky” death in the frozen Alps and the present time. He could be the longest prisoner of war, as he could be a poor John Doe with enough chirurgical operations and manipulations to do the job…he could be a clone, for all he know. And HYDRA still had the time to age him naturally if that was the case. As it is, he remembered enough flash of various chirurgical operations, times where he was put down but woke up mid operation, times where they didn’t bothered to. Consequently, he favored mostly the first two hypothesis.

As it is, his memory was really limited. He had some bribes of previous missions, parts of mission debriefs, fragments of impressions, like the weight of a riffle, the burn of a cold wind, the odour of the burning flesh mixed with gasoline…But he didn’t remember anything else. Well, beside the persisting feeling he knew the man-on-the-bridge.

 **He couldn’t trust the man on the bridge**. Just the man face wake up a whole new kind of feelings, feelings he didn’t even think he still was able to express: warmth, bliss, trust, sun, joy, protection, happiness, laughter. But as much as he wants to, as heading the fragments linked to the man on the bridge are, he can’t go to him. HYDRA fucked him up enough as it is, he doesn’t dare contact this Man-Captain-Steve Rogers, to find that everything was in fact a last conditioning of HYDRA to get him back. This could be the case. You just had to see how he was conditioned to react to his handler, even the one he’s chosen!

God, he was fucked up…and now he was dumbly bouncing on the comfy bed, like a ten years old brat…

A loud screeching of car’s brakes outside made him jump out the bed. Instantly, he was hyperaware and prowling the flat. He checked nervously all the openings. He intently scanned the little part of the neighborly street he could see from the living room windows, again missing the absence of drapes. He angrily scowled at the advertising screen. With this light, this dumb thing could actually hide any sniper nesting in the front building. _Dangerous. He has to check the roof. This way, he would make sure no snipers were hidden in the front building. It would be safer._

But his handler told him to stay put.

But he had to check for snipers.

But he has to stay in the apartment.

But would his handler order him to stay in a non-secure place? Well he could, obviously, but…he’s blind. Are blind people aware of snipers way of nesting? Probably not. So…maybe he’ll be happy instead, that the asset made use of his superior knowledge on the subject, and secured correctly the place… _Yeah, that could do it…Let’s go check the roof!_

As he got to the main door, he made a mental note to find a tool to pick it up for his return. “No trace, no step backs”.

He just had his hand on the door handle when he heard a helicopter flying over the block…Panic overflowed him as quick as a gunshot. In a wink, it was the night before all again: he switched from highly trained operative to whimpering terrified mess. Adrenaline, cortisol and oxytocin saturated his blood stream, and the only remaining thought in his brain was “HIDE!!”

And so he hid. In the darkest corner of the already dark bedroom, he made himself as little and silent as possible. He closed his eyes and flinched at every sound invading his bubble of darkness. Every dog bark, every car horn, every passer-by yell. The too loud conversation between the two women on the hall. The repeated sounds of footsteps and furniture moving in the other flats. But he wasn’t in his handler closet anymore. He was on the run from HYDRA, alone and terrified, _and he rather die than going back…_

He didn’t know how long he stayed in the closet, snuggled between an old bulky chest and the wall, breathing in the wool and leather smelling air. But he must have fallen asleep at some point, as he was brutally woken up by the key turning in the flat door lock. In the apartment quietness, it sounded thundering.

_Oh my God, they’re here! They found me, and they’ve come to get me!_

He frantically looked for a weapon, but his soft civilian clothes weren’t adequate for wearing them, and the handler asked him to put them away, and he didn’t know where he stocked them, _he should have taken a kitchen knife at least, stupid…_

“Well, where is he, your stray assassin?”

“Foggy…”

His handler voice?!

“Hey? Hello? Is there any brainwashed soldier in here?”

“Foggy, stop, he’s afraid!”

“Afraid? How? …oh, yes, super ninja thing…”

He heard his handler quiet steps coming near him, and waiting at the door. Then his handler nice voice said quietly: “Hey.” Then, he continued soothingly: “It’s okay, you’re okay, it’s just my best friend Foggy. He’s noisy, but he’s got a heart of gold. He won’t hurt you, promise."

He heard the said “Foggy” huff out as if wanting to say something, and he tried to remember how to breath. He knew he had to come out to meet this person. His handler obviously wanted them to meet. But…he couldn’t make himself to come out. _He felt safe here._

“Matt, what…”

“Shh, Foggy, let me…Hey, you’re okay, you can get out only when you feel comfortable to, okay? Foggy and I will prepare the dinner, you come meet us only when you want to, okay?”

“Foggy and I, huh? I didn’t think YOU could cook ANYTHING, ninja-guy…”

He heard their voices getting away, probably to the kitchen. Soon, metal clings and faint grilling sounds were heard, and a delicious homecooked smell began to fill the flat. He felt his heart finally come to its regular rhythm…and gradually, the enticing aromas won over his lingering fear. He finally got up, and got to the kitchen.

“Honestly, how do you even manage when I’m not cooking for you, mister I’m-too-snob-to-eat-takeout?”

The man called “Foggy” asked to his handler, gesturing with a spatula. Smoked sausages were merrily cooking in a frying pan, mashed tomatoes and onions in a second one, and rice boiled in a last pot. The smells were mouthwatering. His handler was leaning beside the stove, skillfully moving from the man named “Foggy” path, before regaining his exact previous position. The fact he was _(obviously)_ not looking where he and the man called “Foggy” was going was eerie, actually. With a growing smirk, his handler answered the other man comment:

“Well, YOU always wash your hands before cooking”

“Of course I always wash my…Oh.No.”

“Yes”

“Come on, Matt, there is something called “blissful unknowingness”. And I think that this, this gets directly in this category. Oh God, now I’ll never order take out again…”

When the man called Foggy saw him, he hided the dishcloth he was wavering as a flag behind his back, and turned to face him. The man, obviously not very athletic, was solidly build nonetheless, with shoulder-length light hair, an expressive open face, and wore an obnoxious pink apron on his work clothes. There was a long moment when everyone waited for the other to begin…Then Foggy broke the spell when he exclaimed:

“Holly Shit, you’re Bucky Barnes!”


	7. Winter Soldier: Meet Foggy Nelson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay. Between work, and my devious brain that was okay to write scene that would not happen before a long time, this chapter has been a literal pain to write. I'm still not happy with it, but I need to progress and hopefully, the next one will be better. Thanks for all your nice comments and kudos, they really helped me get over my block !

“Dude, we have to call Captain America.”

Even if the man-Bucky Barnes? didn’t move, Matt heard his muscles straining and his heartbeat skyrocketing. Moreover, his panic must have been visible, as Foggy withdrawed:

“Or we don’t have to. No problem man, it’s as you want, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want, right, Matty?”

 

Matt could feel the palpable desperation radiated by the man. All the guy body was tensed and his attention focused on HIM. Suddenly, Matthew realized again how dangerous each of his words were to this man. If he said that they should contact the avengers now, the soldier would accept it without question, even if the Captain’s name alone terrified him. Carefully weighting his words so he wouldn’t manipulate him, he asked:

“What are your thoughts about Captain America?”

“He said he knew me. That my name is “James Buchanan Barnes”. That I knew him all my life. According to the Smithsonian’s, James Buchanan Barnes served under his commandment during WWII, and I possess similar face structure with him. However, James Buchanan Barnes was declared M.I.A. in 1944, and if he survived, he would be more than ninety years old.”

“Well, so is Captain America…he’s the best well conserved nonagenarian in the world.”

“Thank you Foggy…But that doesn’t explain why you don’t want to go to him.” Matt said, hoping he asked it neutrally enough so the man-James Barnes? didn’t feel pressured against his feelings.

“I…he feels too good. I don’t…trust it. Too…safe. If it’s THEM that…made it feel that way, so I go back to THEM, I…It’s too…good. I can’t, it’s…”

Matt heard the faint brush of hair indicating that the man was shaking his head, and felt the increase of body heat showing the increase of his stress level. His posture was gradually hunching on itself, and the heard the growing muscle and metal strain, indicating that he was gripping his arms as if bracing from blows. At the same time, Matt recognized growing Foggy distress: Usual shortening of breath and heartbeat, and the skin on skin friction telling that Foggy was wringing his hands. He decided to change to subject. Captain America could wait.

“We won’t try to contact the Avengers or the Captain if you don’t wish too. We won’t do anything you don’t feel safe to do, I promise.”

At this reassurance, the soldier probably visibly eased up, as he felt Foggy relax along with him. Suddenly, a more pressing question came to his mind:

“Do you think they can find you? Hydra?”

“The probability is low as long as I stay hidden. They only found me because I raided one of their warehouses to find sustenance. I evaded their chase until now, so I think I was able to discard all their trackers.”

“Well…that’s a relief. I…”Matt paused and tilted his head, then said to Foggy: “Uh, maybe you should check the meat, it’s burning.”

“What, it doesn’t…oh, not yet, you mean…Wow, that’s a cool trick. That explains how you never messed any pancake even when you were hungover out of your mind…”

“Actually, burned food smells even worse when you’re hungover, so…”

“Oh, you tell me…”

And just like that, the tension eased up. Matt asked the take place if he was hungry, and Foggy served them generously his “rougaille”.

“Actually, it’s a creole meal, I knew a girl in college, she made the awesomest creole food I ever had, and she taught me when I asked. It’s a damn pity she had to move to California or whatever. I should have a lot more spice in it, but a certain guy I won’t name doesn’t like spicy food, so I made a poor, plain version here, but let me tell you…”

Matt faintly smiled. Foggy banter, and Foggy meals, were a part of his life he could label as “Safe”, and it was always a joy to have him here at home. He entertained the idea of explaining that to him, he tasted and smelled already so many things in the so-called “plain meals”, that he couldn’t be bothered with spicy things. These were overwhelming to his senses, and stayed in his nose and mouth for hours. Here, he enjoyed the taste and the smell of the still crunchy onions, the softness and the natural sourness of the tomatoes, the faint sweetness of the rice, and the rich aroma of the sausages. It was perfect as it was.

Instead, Matt took the time to listen to the man-Barnes?. Thanks to the meal, and Foggy armless babbling, his stress levels were well down. Good. Maybe he could try to ask what make him so afraid he had to hide in the closet. Then he mentally face palmed. If HE was chased by HYDRA, he would probably end in a closet too. _Well I’m here now, and I will protect you._

Deciding the man had enough distressing events for the day, he chosen to ask what he’s eaten at noon.

“I cooked some beans with cheese for the caloric intake, and I took some green salad for fiber input. And I ate some bread.”

The answer was careful, but there was an inflexion on the “cooked” that indicated that part of the man tension wasn’t only fear, but…challenge too. _He’s…testing me? Looking if I’ll react because he “dared” to cook something hot for himself?_

A slow grin grew on Matt face. This guy has serious balls to try him so soon, when he was so strongly conditioned to mindlessly obey his handlers. He made sure to congratulate the man for cooking such an appropriate meal when his fridge was so poorly packed. This started a snigger from Foggy, who obligingly pointed out how many times he had to “feed the puppy because he would starve by himself”. Thanks Foggy.

Afterward, the three of them were sat in the living room (Matt had to ask/order the man to sit where he preferred). Foggy was idly doing things on his phone, and squirming a little, two things betraying his nervousness. Instead, the soldier was absolutely still, his posture still too straight, even if less stressed than before their meal.

“Okay, so, now that we know each other and all, why do you think that Captain America is HYDRA?”

“Foggy, stop, he explained he doesn’t want to see him, it’s enough.”

“But Matt, he…” Foggy tone was headstrong, he was ready to declaim his arguments, too certain he was right. But Matt knew better. He absolutely had to respect the few choices the soldier expressed. Otherwise, he feared the man would close up and never ask for anything again. Matt interrupted firmly:

“Foggy, I said no.”

Matt heard the little click of Foggy throat, meaning he probably opened his mouth, wanting to say something, before thinking better of it and closing it. He heard the brush of clothes and felt the recentering of Foggy’s heat source, revealing he was crossing his arms. He was probably pouting. But Matt only had a very vague idea of what’s “pouting” should look like on an adult face beside himself, so…let’s say it felt like it.

Matt took a deep breath, passed his hand through his hair, a gesture that always calmed him. Then he said:

“What I’ll rather know is who you think you are, and why HYDRA is after you.”

The man-James? answered immediately, as if eager to please:

“There are different possibilities. I could be James Buchanan Barnes, as I share some physic features, and some well-known abilities with this person, and he was canonically exposed to HYDRA. But I also could be anyone of the present generation who’ll share some similarities with the deceased James Buchanan Barnes. Hydra could make me look and act like him with enough training and surgical operations. Finally, I could be a natural clone of this person, as HYDRA had both the time and the means to conceive one. “

Matt heard Foggy breath stuttering and exclaiming an appalled “What the hell”.

The man continued evenly: “I’m a valuable Asset. My skillsets go from assassinates solo ops to wartime team leader. I both excel at close combat and long range assault. I’ve got an endurance and resistance superior to humans. I’m more resilient and can heal three as five times quicker than the norm. I speak fluent English, Russian, German, French, Chinese and Italian.” The man finished with a hopeful note, as if still begging him to keep him. _See, I’m usefull, keep me_. Matt shuddered at the realization. Foggy’s heartbeat had increased, and he was now shaking his fists, barely containing his anger.

“What do you mean, when you say that you have hypothesizes? How can you not knowing who you are?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything before my last briefing, which was to prevent anyone impairing project insight, with Steve Rogers as priority target.”

“And you fought against Captain America?”

“It was my order. But he said I knew him, and I…I felt like he meant something…good. Better than everything, and I…put him out the water and I…didn’t kill him. And after, I felt things…I felt like I was alive, and I decided that I wouldn’t come back, that I would investigate the man on the bridge but…I got afraid, I thought…what if HYDRA put the good there so I felt like even if I don’t remember anything, I remember this person and come back to her even if I don’t want to escape them?”

Foggy then spoke in: «That’s…messed up. Logical, but…messed up”

“I can’t go back to them. I felt like…like nothing, like I didn’t exist, just was here to be used. But after the man on the bridge, I felt the sun, and the blood, and the pain, and…so many things I didn’t even know how to feel. I don’t want to forget how to feel again. I won’t come back. Please, don’t make me, I can’t come back, I…I can be useful, you don’t need to wipe me, just…”

Matt felt that Foggy was on the breaking point, and acted.

“It’s okay, you’re safe here as long as you need, as I said this morning. Now, could you please went to the room and prepare yourself to sleep?”

“But you don’t have any cryo-chambers.”


	8. Bucky Barnes: Meet Daredevil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, my netbox crashed and I spend 5 days without phone or internet...let me tell you: I never was much productive...and frustrated. And I realised how much I was addicted too.  
> Anyway, here comes more angst and sad puppy Matt and Bucky. But it'll get better. Promise^^  
> Oh, and next chapter: Matt'll activate overprotective Bucky mode^^  
> And thank you all for your nice support and comments, it means the world to me!

The man who-probably-was-Bucky Barnes wanted to scream.

He was huddled up in his handler’s bed, on the so soft grey sheets. He resisted the silly urge to cuddle one of the biggest pillows. The room was dark and cold. He didn’t put on the lights, and he fell like the bare brick walls were sucking all the warmth he managed to get back with the hot meals and the hot showers. He shivered in his incongruous pink T-shirt and grey sweats.

He was tired. Exhausted, in fact. He did nothing but sleep, and eat, and walk around a one bedroom apartment _(and hiding in a closet all afternoon after a panic attack)_ and he never remembered wanting to sleep more than here and now. But more than that, he wanted them _to SHUT UP. He was RIGHT HERE._

And they kept arguing about him, _after sending him to his room like a fucking child so Mom and Dad could talk._

He cringed and tried to make himself smaller on the bed when he heard the other man-Foggy Nelson- ranting angrily at his handler.

“Jesus Matt, you can’t keep him here, the guy’s wanted by, like, every secret organization, legal and non-legal ones. We’re not even talking about American ones, literally the whole world is looking for this man. It’s too big for us, Matt!”

The man-probably-called-Bucky Barnes sucked in a breath when he heard the so calming and so nice voice of his handler: “Foggy, it doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? He came to me. He needs my help, and he asked me to keep him safe. So that’s what I’m going to do.” He heard the man-called-Foggy splutter to answer, but his handler continued, his tone imposing silence effortlessly: “And I refuse to contact any hypothetic allies when he just begged me not to. I promised him, Foggy, and he asked me. You saw how hard it is for him to ask for anything. I won’t ignore his wishes because you don’t want him under my roof!”

At these words, the asset-Bucky Barnes felt like he could breathe again, his knotted stomach loosening. Levelling up his head from his arms and knees, he let himself hope. _My handler will take care of me._

“Matt, it’s not so simple.” Now, the man-Foggy Nelson’s tone was less angry, tenser, and anxious to convince: “Listen, if you think you can fix this man issues and trauma with a little soup and a hot shower, you’re even more foolish that I thought you were. And with all the Daredeviling without body armor you did, let me tell you it’s already a lot.”

“So what, Foggy, what do you want me to do? Give him up to the police, who could be Hydra? Or to the Avengers, who he specifically begged me not to call? What? Do you want me to throw him out, so he can be abused again, because YOU don’t want to bother to try to help?”

“Come on, don’t make me the bad guy because you don’t want to hear the truth, man. I’m just saying, this guy ‘ll need more help and protection than little you and me can provide! We’re looking at someone who was brainwashed, tortured, and probably killed a lot of people without his consent for more than seventy years! Someone that every government want to stand on trial, when they just not simply wish to make him disappear. Me and you, we won’t be able to help him recover, or get him back a legal existence by ourselves. We need someone help…someone with big, fat money who can get the good therapists, the good contacts, and the good lawyers to help him.”

“We’re good lawyers.”

“Damnit Matt, look what happened when Fisk hushed us up! Now, here? It’ll be worse. Billions times worse. Worldwide media worse, see what I mean? You can’t protect him from that, Matthew.”

Silence descended upon the flat. Then man-called-Bucky struggled to keep his breathing as quiet as possible. He strained to hear his handler, but he remained quiet. His stomach knotted itself painfully. Would his handler listen to the man-called-Foggy, and leave him? He knew it was a silly hope, staying here. His handler-no, the-man-called-Matt Murdock, had only him for a day, he hadn’t even used him yet, of course he would have no reasons to brave his previous owners to keep him. He tried to brace himself. Ha had managed to live alone for months now, he could do it again. HE COULD.

“But I can try.”

He stopped breathing altogether. Did he hear correctly? It was nearly a murmur, but it was his handler voice, and did he…would he…keep him? Could he…stay?

Still astounded, he heard the disappointed “Whatever, it’s like talking to a wall…” and the departure of the man called Foggy Nelson. He listened to the anguished “Foggy…” his handler called with a little voice. _He feels guilty. Because of me. I need to show him how useful I am, so he feels less guilty._

The ray of light under the bedroom’s door disappeared, and he heard the soft footsteps of his handler getting closer. _Crap, I should be sleeping._ Swiftly, he got under the covers and softened his breaths to simulate sleep. He closed his eyes. Waited.

“You know you don’t have to fake sleep, right? You’re an adult, you sleep when you want to.”

 _Well, YOU told me to get ready to bed like a troublesome child so Mom and Dad could talk._ He couldn’t say that, but he tried to put all the “well don’t give me dumb orders in that case” when he answered:

“Sir.”

His handler cringed, rubbing behind his neck in his uneasiness. Not quite looking at him _(well, duh)_ , he apologized:

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to leave when you were concerned, but…” _No, it’s only about my survival you were talking, silly, I’m just a LITTLE concerned…_ ”I knew my partner would react like that, even if you weren’t connected with Captain America, I knew that with Hydra and everything, he would ask me to get you as far away as possible, but I won’t. And I didn’t want to distress you any further. So, sorry for keeping you apart from the conversation.”

The man previously-called-Bucky was at loss. Knowing he could stay was already beyond all his expectations. But now, his handler-Matt Murdock apologized to him?? Part of him was brimming over with joy. Another was freezing with terror. The handlers NEVER apologized. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, and he couldn’t help dreading an unknown punishment for his inability to react accordingly to his handler, even if it wasn’t his fault if he didn’t know how to react outside usual handler’s parameters.

But the man only sighed tiredly and began to remove his tie and his jacket. His expression was grim, his mouth curved down, his shoulders sagged. Then, he tilted his head to the side, and his posture hardened, the man’s mouth got even thinner. The man-probably-named-Bucky Barnes tensed, waiting for the blows. The handler opened the closet, then the massive chest that was in it. He heard the ominous sound of leather and reinforced clothe. So that was here the handler kept his weapons… _Now, he’ll get what he’s deserved…_ The man-Asset resisted the childish impulse to close his eyes. _I don’t want to look what will be use to hurt_. The handler straightened up, and the man-Asset couldn’t repress a flinch. But the handler was only holding his dark red suit and reinforced pads, and he went directly to the bathroom to change. Then he saw his handler, fully equipped, getting out the apartment through the window. Leaving him, alone, on the bed, in his dumb pink T-shirt. _This dumb fool is going straight to troubles bigger than him._

The man probably called Bucky Barnes suddenly felt like a déjà-vu. Maybe he protected other righteous self-destructives guys in the past…


End file.
